Fear Is The Parent of Cruelty
by Jennifer Hart
Summary: Set preseries. Catherine works an insignificant wildlife shooting, unaware Grissom's life is in danger. NOW COMPLETE! Part of The Grissom Collection series.
1. This Isn't Happening

Title: Fear Is The Parent Of Cruelty

Author: Special Agent Meg

Rating: PG

Disclaimers: If I owned them, Ecklie would be six feet under instead of assistant director.

Classification: Suspense

Summary: It's December 13, 1999, Brass is still head of the unit. Catherine works an insignificant wildlife shooting, unaware Grissom's life is in danger.

This first chapter contains a lot of flashbacks, so I'm putting timestamps at the start of each scene.

**10:30PM**

"Catherine – you've got an attempted shooting of a porcupine 20 miles outside of Las Vegas." Brass handed her the assignment sheet.

"Already solved – I did it," Catherine replied instantly. "Payback for the little bugger that stuck me out at summer camp when I was ten." There was a murmur of chuckles around the graveyard shift. "Come on, Jim – shooting a porcupine? Who really cares?"

"Four eight-year-olds and their families. The bullet ricocheted and went past a treehouse."

"Oh, well, that's different."

"I thought so. Nick, Warrick, you guys have a real murder – human. Your hit-and-run victim from the other night didn't make it."

"Charming," Nick replied.

"Elise said she'd probably have a lead for us on the make of car by midnight," Warrick reported, referring to one of the beginning CSIs who worked in the lab. Brass nodded his approval.

"And Grissom – oh, he's at that entomology thing in Henderson tonight, right? Re-cert for Linear…Reconnaissance?"

"Regression," Catherine corrected. Brass snorted.

"You'll probably have to correct me again the next time he attends one. Oh, and I've been asked by the sheriff to strongly encourage all of you to attend the Critical Incident Stress seminars the department is holding next week." There was a collection of groans.

"You mean the one where we all sit in a circle and share our feelings?" Warrick asked sarcastically.

Brass restrained a grin. "It's to help you guys handle some of the more traumatic things we see as part of the job."

"What are they offering us to help us deal with the course?" Nick muttered. "_That's_ one of the most traumatic parts of our job."

"Day shift should attend it – they've got Ecklie as the supervisor," Warrick quipped.

"Okay guys, that's enough." Brass intervened.

"Jim, those seminars are about showing us videos that are just as horrific as the things they're trying to help us process," Nick protested.

"Work through stress by getting more stress," Warrick added. "There's no logic in that."

Brass held up his hands in a defenseless gesture. "I know, I know. But on the record I have to encourage you guys to attend. Off the record – I've got plenty of forms in my office for any of you who have suddenly remembered you're due for a dental checkup or eye exam." He returned the grins he got with a rare one of his own.

**9:40PM**

Gil Grissom pulled open the door of _It's A Classic_ – a novelty store specializing in classical music and rare books – and stepped inside. The entomology course participants had been dismissed for the night, and he'd decided to stop by the Midnight Madness that Henderson's downtown shopping district was holding.

The lighting inside the store was dim and it took his eyes a moment to adjust. The first thing he noticed in the store was the lack of people; aside from a man behind the counter there was nobody there. Grissom smiled and took a step forward.

"Excuse me," he said in a friendly voice. "Do you have an instrumental copy of Verdi's _Requiem_?"

For an answer, the man reached out and pointed a handgun at Grissom's head.

**11:00PM**

It didn't take long for Catherine to find the address Jim had given her. The place was near a house she'd brought Lindsey to for a birthday party earlier that year. The house was set at the end of a long driveway and surrounded by trees to make it less visible from the road. A marked police car was parked on one side of the double driveway. Catherine parked her Tahoe on the other side, grabbed her kit out and walked up to the door, then rang the doorbell.

The door opened and it was all Catherine could do to keep from laughing. The girl who opened the door stood just over four feet and was dressed in what had to be her mother's trench-coat. The tan-colored jacket scraped the top of her shoes and was complimented by a matching hat and a pair of dark-colored wrap-around sunglasses.

"Hi there," Catherine said with a smile. "My name is Catherine – I'm with the crime lab."

"Do you have ID?" the little girl asked.

"Kristin!" A dark-haired woman came up behind the girl, followed by Detective Amy Andersen from the Las Vegas Police Department.

"No, no, it's not a problem," Catherine said quickly. She pulled out her ID and showed it to the girl. "Do I need a password too?"

Kristin grinned, showing a pair of dimples. "No."

"Hi, Catherine," Amy said. "Thanks for coming down here."

"No problem."

Amy winked at Catherine before looking at Kristin. "Okay, Agent A96 – have you completed your mission?"

The girl stood at attention. "Yes, ma'am." She handed the officer two pieces of brightly colored paper. 'Your security access badges."

Amy nodded gravely. "Thank you. We'll return them to you as soon as we're finished." She handed one to Catherine and motioned for her to follow her outside.

After the door had shut behind them, Amy said, "You ever pretend you were a spy when you were her age?"

"Doesn't every kid?" Catherine shook her head. "Oh yeah. My mom still won't let me forget the mess I made when I fingerprinted all my stuffed animals with her inkpad."

Amy burst out laughing. "Yeah, well, this kid won't be forgetting this 'spy experience' either. Apparently she and three of her friends were having a sleepover up in her treehouse – an all night spy meeting. The agenda included code practice, working on disguises, and going over techniques for evading the enemy. Only things got a little too real. Around ten the kids and the parents all hear a shot go through some leaves near the treehouse. Kristin's father comes running out into the yard, spots a guy gunning his car towards Las Vegas. He followed him until the guy stopped outside St. Cecilia's High School and then called the police."

"He stopped at a high school?"

Amy nodded. "He's a teacher there – left some boxes of textbooks in his classroom. Name's Alexander MacLean. We spoke with him and he said he was driving back from Henderson, spotted a porcupine and decided to get a little target practice in."

"If people had brains they'd be dangerous," Catherine muttered.

"Apparently the guy is an aspiring Olympic shooter, was on his way back from target practice out of town."

"Why wouldn't he just use a shooting range in Las Vegas?" Catherine asked.

Amy shrugged. "Apparently the guy didn't want to run into one of his students' parents, give them the wrong idea. He's really apologetic, said what he did was stupid."

"I could have told him that. Where's the porcupine?"

"Our aspiring Olympian said he missed."

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Have you found the bullet yet?"

"Figured you guys would want me to wait for you."

"Thanks." Catherine pulled on some latex gloves and flipped on her flashlight.

"You want the metal detector?"

"Not yet." Catherine studied the treehouse. "Did our little spies say what side they heard the shot on?"

"The one closest to the road." Catherine directed the beam of her light into the branches on that side of the treehouse and was rewarded by the sight of silver imbedded in a tree limb. She winced.

"No wonder those kids were so scared. The bullet's lodged maybe two feet away from the treehouse." Amy grimaced. "Do me a favor, see if the parents have a nice tall ladder."

A short while later, Catherine was standing several feet higher than she would have liked and using the scalpel from her field kit to pry the bullet out of the limb. It had rained lightly since the shooting, and the damp wood allowed Catherine to pry the bullet out in only a few minutes' time.

After she was back on the ground, Catherine studied the bullet, now safely encased in a plastic evidence bag. "Well, it looks like our idiot gunman at least nicked his target," she remarked.

"Don't tell me there's quills on it," Amy said in disbelief.

Catherine shook her head. "Nope. There's blood."

**9:45PM**

Immediately the criminalist put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Easy, no need to do anything crazy here," Grissom said quietly. Out of habit he rapidly scanned the store, taking in the shelves full of books, the CDs and audiocassettes, and the open, empty till in front of him.

"Don't move," the man growled.

"No problem," Grissom answered, careful to keep his voice quiet. The man moved around the counter and stepped forward. For the first time Grissom noticed a small backpack on the man's shoulder, which he guessed contained the money from the register. There was no sign of the actual proprietor of the store and Grissom guessed they were already dead. He swallowed hard.

"Turn around and put your hands above your head against the bookshelf," the thief ordered.

"All right." Grissom did as he was told, careful to move slowly so as not to spook the other man. Quickly he searched Grissom for any weapons, then stepped backwards.

"Turn around and put your hands at your sides. Then I want you to walk straight ahead of me and act normally. You try anything, I'll shoot you. Got that?"

"You don't need to take me with you. You've already got the money that you came for. Why don't you just leave me here, tied up? By the time anyone finds me you'll be long gone," Grissom offered.

"If I leave you here it will be with a bullet in your head," the man retorted. He raised the gun. "But if that's really what you prefer…"

"No...no. I'll come with you."

"That's better. Now turn around."

Grissom did so, slowly lowering his arms to his sides. Almost immediately he felt the barrel of the gun pressed against his back and he took a deep breath. He had a feeling now it wasn't a question of whether the man would kill him, just when.

They walked slowly towards the door and the man behind him carefully flipped the sign to 'Closed' before they exited. Grissom's eyes flashed around quickly, hoping to spot someone else from the entomology course, but he didn't spot anybody.

The man led him towards a navy blue car, an older model with a bench seat. Opening the driver's side door, he gestured for Grissom to climb over to the passenger seat. After Grissom was seated, his abductor grabbed a dark colored scarf from the back seat and handed it to him. "Tie this over your eyes."

"You don't need to do that—" Grissom stopped as the man pressed the gun against his temple. Quickly he removed his glasses, put them in his front pocket, and tied the makeshift cloth over his eyes. Beside him, he heard the other man climb into the driver's seat, shut the door, and turn the key in the ignition. Grissom took a deep breath and leaned his head against the headrest.

**11:45PM**

TAP-TAP-tap-tap-tap-click-TAP-TAP-tap-tap-tap-click-TAP-tap-TAP-click…

"What in sam hill?" Catherine stopped a few feet away from the DNA lab and glanced around, cautiously. It wasn't the first time someone's less than appropriate footwear attire had been heard on the hard linoleum floors of every room in the lab, but it was certainly the strangest rhythm, almost as though someone were trying tap-dancing. There was a moment of silence and then it came again.

TAP-TAP-tap-tap-tap-click-TAP-TAP-tap-tap-tap—"Darn it!"—TAP-click…

"Oh, for crying out loud." Catherine strode forward, knowing all to well now what was going on, and stuck her head in the door of the DNA lab.

Greg Sanders, the newly hired young lab tech, had his back to the door and appeared to be practicing tap dancing in a small corner of the room. Catherine put her hand up to her mouth to hide her grin and debated whether or not to go look for a camera before her professionalism took hold again – almost.

"Hey, Dick Van Dyke!" she called, raising her voice to be heard over the rhythm. Greg jumped and promptly kicked himself in the ankle.

"Ouch!" He staggered to the side, off balance. Quickly Catherine rushed forward and caught his arm.

"You all right?" she asked when she was sure he was steady. When he nodded, she said, "I'm afraid to ask, but what on earth are you doing tap dancing in the lab?"

"Irish dancing," he corrected, with a small grin. "Like Michael Flatley."

"Uh, I hate to break it to you, but that was _not_ like Michael Flatley," she replied, fighting back a grin. "For one thing, Michael Flatley doesn't usually practice in a crime lab. For another, I don't remember hearing him yell, 'Darn it!' in the middle of _The Lord of the Dance_."

"Okay, so I've still got some work to do," Greg admitted.

"Yeah." She handed him the little bag with the bullet. "Guy claims he shot a porcupine with this, but we don't have the porcupine. I need you to run the blood on it to make sure it's animal."

"Got it." Catherine's face softened into a smile.

"And I'll tell you what. I took an Irish dance class a few years ago. If here early tomorrow, I'll try and show you some of what I remember."

"Thanks, Cath."

"You're welcome."

**9:50PM**

"So, what's your name?" Grissom asked.

The man behind the wheel gave a short laugh. "Do you really expect me to tell you that?"

Grissom tried to smile. "Do you just expect me to say 'hey, you' every time I talk to you?" If he could have seen his abductor, he would have been willing to bet the man was rolling his eyes.

'I don't expect you to talk to me at all."

Grissom decided not to push it. Without being able to see the man's eyes, or at the very least his body language, there was no way to tell if he'd pushed the man's tension too far. The abductor could choose to pull the trigger at any time and he would have no warning whatsoever.

They rode in silence for a few more minutes before Grissom said quietly, "Do you want to tell me what you're planning to do with me?"

He felt the barrel pushed against his ribs. "What I want is for you to sit there and shut up."

**12:30AM**

Greg sighed and mentally debated whether or not to attempt the Irish steps again. On the one hand, he didn't want to ruin his chance of Catherine showing him what she knew about Irish dance steps. On the other, he was bored stiff. The only test he was running was Catherine's blood DNA profile, and he'd already done everything he could. The rest was up to the machine.

Greg shot a furtive glance at the glass window. If he took off his shoes and tried the steps in his sock feet, nobody would hear him. And he was careful to keep his lab floor clean, unlike some of the others in the complex.

The decision made, Greg quickly tugged off his shoes and got into position next to the counter, his eyes clearly trained on the dance charts he'd brought to work with him. He'd gotten the printouts from the internet, after over four hours of searching. And after six hours the day before at the public library looking for anything even remotely related to Irish dance.

The computer beeped abruptly and Greg gave a start. The result was quicker than he'd expected. Curiously, he walked over to the computer and picked up the printout that had automatically been generated. His dark eyes scanned the page, widened as he realized what he was reading. Nausea welled up and he was sure he was going to be sick.

"No. Oh please, no."

**10:00PM**

Grissom wasn't sure how long they'd been driving when the car pulled to a stop and he heard the driver's side door open. A second later his door opened and the man's firm hand clamped down on his arm. "Get out."

"What are you doing?"

"I said get out!"

The man yanked at his arm and Grissom did his best to comply, his hands groping for a hold to steady himself. The man shoved him forward and he automatically put his hands out to protect himself, landing all fours on what felt like grass. Something fell from his pocket and he heard the abductor move to pick it up.

"Gil Grissom." The man sounded as though he was reading aloud and Grissom realized his ID must have fallen from his pocket. "Las Vegas Crime Lab?"

The man shoved Grissom over so that was in a semi-sitting position and Grissom felt the barrel pushed against his chest. 'You're a friggin' cop!"

"No…wait…"

**12:35AM**

"So our killer ended up being the victim's fifteen-year-old daughter," Nick reported.

Catherine turned from where she was bending over the break room fridge. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Apparently the vic – who according to friends of the family could be a real dick at the best of times – had been pressuring his daughter about getting her driver's license, even though the girl was terrified of driving."

"The night he died the victim totally made his daughter feel like crap about her fear, then stormed out of the house. She was so intimidated that she grabbed the SUV from the garage and tried taking it around the block, by herself," Warrick added. "She saw her father walking down the street and was so worked up she decided she'd get him off her back – permanently."

Catherine sighed. "Bastards like that don't deserve children."

A sudden thud made all three CSIs look up at the door. Greg, in sock feet, was holding onto the door frame, trying to get his balance.

"Where's the fire, bud?" Catherine asked with a smile. "And what's with the lack of footwear?"

Greg didn't answer, just stood there, his mouth shaking like he was about to cry. Catherine took a step towards him, her smile gone. "What is it, Greg?" she said gently.

"The blood…on the bullet…it's human. I-I-I got a match."

"In CODIS?" Catherine asked. Greg shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes.

"F-From o-our database." He swallowed, then a second time like he was having trouble getting the words out. "I-I-It's Grissom's."


	2. Race Against The Clock

**12:40AM**

"How in _sam hill_ could this happen?" Nick's voice was agitated, his Texas accent even more pronounced, and he was moving at a speed that rivaled the city ambulance. "Gris was supposed to be at an entomology conference."

"The shooter is a teacher," Catherine said tersely as the trio rounded the corner of the lab. "Maybe he was there to prepare a science lesson."

"Come on, Catherine – we're talking about bugs here. For crying out loud, their only enemies are the maggots they dissect."

"Old enemy, bad timing, who freakin' knows?" Warrick sounded madder than Nick or Catherine had ever known him to be. And more scared. "Right now I just want to find Gris before it's too late."

A wave of nausea hit Catherine – strong and icy hot. They could already be too late.

**1:00AM**

"Police! Open up!"

Jeanette MacLean yanked open the door, looking bewildered. "What in the world?"

Brass strode past her and over to her husband, who he pushed face forward against the wall. "Alexander MacLean, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Gil Grissom." Brass leaned forward so that his lips were only a millimeter away from MacLean's ear. "And you had better hope that's all, because if he dies I will personally escort your filthy butt to the execution chamber."

"Look, there's got to be some mistake here—"

"Oh, there's a big mistake, pal. And you made it." Brass finished cuffing him and shoved him back. Amy Andersen took the man's other arm as they escorted him down the stairs.

"Brass!" Catherine's voice carried over from where she stood at the rear of MacLean's car, the trunk lid open. She'd pulled out a box of textbooks and was looking down at the interior. Quickly he walked over.

"Is it Gil?"

Catherine shook her head, unable to speak. He looked down, and then swallowed, hard. Part of the light blue carpeting was now stained a dark, ugly red.

**1:30PM**

"You know, this just makes me sick," Nick muttered, leaning his head against the window of the observation room. "Gris could be…" he couldn't even say it, "…and we have to wait to question that scumbag until his freakin' lawyer gets here because of his stupid rights."

Warrick rolled his eyes. "Welcome to the justice system."

Nick snorted. "That's not what I call justice."

The door to the interrogation room opened and a curly-haired woman stepped inside, carrying a briefcase. "It's about time," Nick muttered.

Warrick snorted. "So soon."

The attorney took a seat on one side of the table with MacLean while Brass and Amy sat on the other. Catherine wasn't sitting; she was standing with her back against the wall facing MacLean, nervously shifting her weight every few minutes.

After the obligatory legal preamble, Brass remarked, "So you said you were taking a shot at a porcupine, isn't that right?"

MacLean nodded. "That's right."

"Really." Brass couldn't even bring himself to give his usual sarcastic smile that he reserved for the lies he exposed. Instead he pushed a picture forward. "Does this look like a porcupine to you?"

The photo wasn't from Grissom's official file. Rather it was a candid picture of Grissom laughing with Catherine's daughter Lindsey, who'd been made up to look like a victim. The photo had been taken at the CSI Annual Multi-Victim Crime Scene Drill, held a couple of weeks earlier. Grissom had surprised Lindsey while taking a swab of the 'blood' on her cheek and she'd let out a little shriek. Both she and Grissom had promptly burst out laughing and Catherine had quickly caught the moment on her roll of 'crime scene film.' The picture, together with several others from that day, were now displayed in the breakroom and had been one of the first things to catch Catherine's eye after Greg's announcement. The contrast was sickening. Grissom smiling, his blue eyes sparkling and full of life; and the realization that he might be gone forever. It hadn't taken long for Catherine to decide to use the photo for identification, in an effort to drive the shooter's actions home.

"We pulled his blood off your bullet," Brass said, his voice barely audible. "You see, all of our staff's blood types and DNA are automatically put on file when they're hired, whether they're cops or from the crime lab. And before you start with the whole 'accident crap' again—"

"Excuse me," MacLean's attorney interrupted indignantly. "I can appreciate that this investigation might be personal for you since it's regarding your co-worker, that doesn't give you the right to insult my client."

"Ms. Lee, there's a difference between insults and cold hard facts," Catherine retorted as she came forward. "Gil Grissom was supposed to be in Henderson for a seminar and had no reason to be anywhere near where that bullet was fired. This shooting is about as 'accidental' as dying of a scorpion sting in Siberia!"

"CSI Willows." Brass' gentle but firm warning came a beat before the lawyer's "That is quite out of line."

"So is shooting somebody Ms. Lee." All gentleness was gone from Brass' voice. "We've proved that your client lied during a criminal investigation and that the blood in the back of his car is human. It's just a matter of time before we match it to Gil Grissom's. So," Brass leaned forward and looked MacLean directly in the eye. "Where is he?"

The gray-haired man shot a quick look at his attorney before blurting, "Under the protection of the Fifth Amendment Act I'm not going to answer."


	3. SuccessOr Failure?

**1:50AM**

"This isn't getting us anywhere," Warrick muttered. "All this guy's doing is repeating the same thing over and over. He knows we can't offer him a deal so he's pleading stupid."

"What time is it?" Nick's voice was dull.

"Almost two." Nick sighed and slammed his fist against the counter.

The door opened and Catherine walked into the observation room, her face flushed. "I had to get out of there before I heard him take the fifth again or I was going to lose it." Her voice was shaking.

Nick put a hand on her arm and she started crying. "I can't do this," she whispered. Quickly he pulled her into a hug.

Warrick looked back at Alexander MacLean, hoping to see something in the man that would give them a lead. His eyes moved around the room, going to the cops and the file folder, then back to MacLean, taking in every detail of the man's appearance. The wary blue eyes, the erect posture, the almost childlike folding of his hands…

"That's it." Warrick looked back at Catherine and Nick. "Kristin's dad said he followed MacLean to the school and that's where he got his license plate."

Catherine ran a distracted hand through her hair. "MacLean said something about needing to get some textbooks from his classroom."

"The boxes we found in the trunk covering the..." Nick's voice trailed off. "Oh for crying out loud...Come on!"

The three CSIs scrambled out of the observation room and Nick quickly banged on the Interrogation room door before turning the handle and shoving his head in. Both detectives looked up and Brass hurried over.

"MacLean stopped at the school after the shooting," Nick spoke rapidly before Brass could interrupt. "Picked up some textbooks and put them in his car."

The cop turned to the uniformed officer standing by the door. "Advise Detective Andersen we've gone to St. Cecilia's High School," he ordered, then looked back at the CSIs. "Let's go!"

**2:15AM**

By the time the car screeched to a halt in the school parking lot the three CSIs were unbuckled and had their doors halfway open. Another minute and they were standing with Brass up at the closest entrance to the building.

"Police!" Brass shouted before ramming the butt of his gun through the window, then reached in, turned the lock, and jerked the door open. Inside the CSIs found themselves in a dark corridor with classrooms and lockers on either side of them. A map on the wall showed the building was shaped like an 'H' with an extra crossbar, along with an arrow indicating their position. Brass pointed to the map.

"Nick and Catherine, take the other side of the building. Warrick and I will start with the classrooms on this side. We'll meet you in the second cross hallway."

The two CSIs nodded and headed for the nearest crossing hallway. The first door was the library and Nick checked the door before shaking his head. "Locked." Catherine shone her light through the window, trying to see between the shelves, but it was next to impossible.

"If we can't get in there, MacLean probably couldn't either," Nick said. Catherine nodded and looked across the hall. There were two washrooms, along with a staff room, which was also locked. Catherine pushed open one door and started making a rapid search of the stalls.

"Grissom? Grissom!" she shouted, shining the beam of her flashlight around. When she was satisfied the room was empty she reluctantly exited, meeting up with Nick as he came out of the other washroom.

"Anything?" Nick shook his head and she sighed. "For all we know he could be in one of the classrooms that's locked."

Nick didn't answer, just shone the beam of his flashlight into another classroom. With his hand he hit the side of the door several times and called out his friend's name, hoping that if Grissom were able he'd respond.

Catherine moved to another door and shone her flashlight through the window. A small window near the ceiling let in some light from the streetlights and Catherine could dimly make out some tables, what looked like industrial arts machinery, and what looked like a person lying on the floor. Quickly she yanked at the knob.

"Nick, I've got him!"

"Brass, Warrick – over here!" Nick yelled before hurrying to Catherine's side. She'd already smashed the window with her sidearm and was scrambling down the stairs.

Gil Grissom was lying partially on his side, partially on his back, just inside what looked like a garage door. His eyes were closed and his face was pale, almost white. As Catherine got closer she could see that the front of his shirt was caked in blood.

"Oh, no," Nick whispered.

Catherine felt the icy hot nausea return and she struggled to push it back as she dropped to her knees and gently shook her friend's shoulder. "Grissom? Gil, can you hear me? Gil!" He lay motionless, giving no sign that he had even heard her. Trembling, Catherine reached a hand out to check his pulse.


	4. Keeping A Stillwatch

**2:30AM**

"Adult male, early forties, shot once in the chest. Unconscious and unresponsive. BP is 85 over 30, pulse is thready, breathing is shallow and labored."

"Get him into Trauma Room Three. Who's the thoracic on call?"

"Dr. Ellison."

"Get her down here, stat!" The young physician in charge looked down at Grissom, lying motionless on the gurney. "This gentleman doesn't have much time."

The words caused Catherine, who'd been following closely behind the gurney, to stop cold in her tracks. She watched helplessly as the doors closed behind doctors, leaving her on the other side, alone. For a second, all she could do was stand there. Then, reluctantly, she chose a seat in the waiting room and sat down, leaning her elbows on her knees and holding her head in her hands, trying to make herself believe that this had actually happened.

This wasn't the first time a colleague had been shot – not even the first time the victim had been a good friend. The year before Nick had come to Las Vegas a psychopath had returned to the scene of a murder he'd committed while two CSIs were processing and had opened fire. One of the CSIs, as well as the uniformed officer at the scene, had been killed. The second, Jacqui Franco, had survived and still worked at the lab, though not in the same position. She'd chosen to take upgrading courses while on medical leave and was now one of the lab's most revered fingerprint technicians.

But Jacqui's injury had been line of duty, a danger that all CSIs were prepared for. There was no preparation for something like this, anymore than there would be if Brass were killed in a convenience store robbery while on a day off.

The door opened and Brass came running in, followed by Nick and Warrick. Numbly, Catherine stood up to greet them. "He's in surgery," she managed to get out. Her mind replayed the doctor's words, _This gentleman doesn't have much time_, and she swallowed hard.

"Sit down, sit down," Brass urged, grabbing her arm and helping her back into one of the seats. "You're going to need to conserve your energy." Left unspoken was the obvious. They were going to be there for a while.

**3:30AM**

Detective Amy Andersen stalked into the holding cells at the police department and over to one of the cells, where she emitted a shrill whistle. The occupant, Alexander MacLean, jerked up from where he was lying on the bed and was halfway across the cell before he realized what was going on. Then he looked at the detective, a mixture of anger and fear in his face.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" he bellowed at her. "My lawyer could have you charged with harassment!"

"I just thought you'd like to know," Amy answered, her voice showing no emotion whatsoever. "Tomorrow, when your students come to school, they're going to be greeted with crime scene tape and police officers. And probably an announcement over the intercom that the Industrial Arts teacher has been arrested for murder."

MacLean didn't say anything, and Amy took a step closer to the cell, making sure he was looking her directly in the eyes. "Of course, their substitute teacher won't have a class to teach for the next couple of days – or a room to teach it in. Because the room's been sealed off as a crime scene."

It didn't take a genius to know what was going through MacLean's mind. Amy didn't say anything for another few minutes, just watched him, her deep blue eyes never leaving his face. Finally, she continued, "The other officer who interrogated you wanted me to give you this information. He called me a little over an hour ago. Do you want to know where he was?"

MacLean didn't answer, and Amy just shrugged. "I'll tell you anyway, just for the fun of it. He was standing in the Industrial Arts classroom – about two feet away from where Gil Grissom was lying covered in blood."

She turned and walked back towards the hallway from where she'd come. Just before she reached for the door handle, Amy turned back. "I just thought you'd like to know that."

**4:00AM**

"I just spoke with Detective Andersen," Brass said as he rejoined the group of CSIs. "MacLean still hasn't said a word – but that his face did all the talking she needed. She said that if she could submit a photo of the moment she told him we found Gil as evidence, a jury would convict him in thirty seconds."

"Well, that's something," Nick muttered, running a tired hand over his face.

"She's going to talk to Henderson PD and get them to canvass the entomology course with MacLean's photo. Hopefully we can find out when and how he abducted Gil."

"Any idea who's getting this case as far as CSI is concerned?" Warrick wanted to know.

"Not Conrad Ecklie," Brass said with a hint of a smile. "Turns out he's out with a case of the stomach flu. Amy's going to try and pull some strings and see if Robyn from Swing Shift can work it."

Warrick and Nick both nodded their approval. Robyn Mackie was a former member of Graveyard who'd transferred to Swing Shift the month before. If they couldn't have one of their own work it, Robyn was the next best choice.

"Has anyone called Gil's mother?" The voice was Catherine's, the first time she'd spoken since Grissom had been taken into surgery.

Brass' voice was uncharacteristically gentle as he said, "They're making arrangements to fly her out now."

**4:45AM**

The door to the emergency room opened and a young couple came in, the man carrying a tiny blond-haired girl. She was crying and had one hand gripping her ear. Warrick felt a twinge of sympathy. He'd had to put up with a lot of ear infections when he was younger, until finally tubes had been inserted in his ears. He took another look at the child's delicate features and his mind flashed to Catherine's six-year-old daughter. Gently, he touched his friend's arm.

"Cath?" he said quietly. "Do you need to make arrangements for Lindsey?"

Catherine's head came up and she winced. "She was sleeping over at her friend Caroline's tonight – it was her first 'away' sleepover."

Fresh tears welled up in Catherine's eyes. "You know, coming to work tonight, I was stressing like crazy that she might have a nightmare. A _nightmare_!" Warrick rubbed her back as she choked back a sob. "That was the worst thing I thought would happen tonight. And now look. Mommy ended up being the one with the nightmare – and it wasn't even one that I could wake up from."

She took a deep breath. "I guess I'd better call Nancy – get her to pick Lindsey up."

"You want me to do it?" Warrick offered.

Catherine shook her head. "No, thanks, I'll go." Warrick stood up with her, making sure she was steady on her feet before letting her walk over to the desk to talk to the Unit Clerk.

**6:20AM**

The little girl with the earache had just been admitted when Brass spotted the door to the surgery area open. "Guys, the doctor's coming out."

Warrick studied her carefully as she walked down the hallway towards them, trying to get a clue from her body language as to how the surgery had gone. The slightly slumped shoulders and weary expression caused a sick feeling to form in the pit of his stomach.

"She's not looking too happy," Nick whispered, his voice shaking slightly. Warrick couldn't answer, but a single tear trickled down his cheek.

"Tell me he's all right." Catherine's voice was desperate. "Tell me, Gill is all right."

**A/N: Since the series does little previews, I'll give you one as well for the next installment.**

"**What went wrong tonight?"**

**- Catherine Willows**


	5. Grief & Heartbreak

**6:25AM **

"How is he?" The question was from all three men; Catherine couldn't bring herself to say anything.

Dr. Ellison took a deep breath before answering, "I'll start by telling you what we _were_ able to do for Mr. Grissom. The bullet fractured his seventh rib on the right side and punctured his lung, before it exited through his back and fractured his scapula. We've repaired the hole as well as inserted a one-way valve to allow him to breathe without more blood entering his lung. Mr. Grissom's heart also stopped twice during the surgery."

There was a collective intake of gasps among the male CSIs and Brass as well as a whimper from Catherine. "Both times, we were able to bring him back." Dr. Ellison hesitated before continuing. "That's my good news. Unfortunately, Mr. Grissom did lose a substantive amount of blood between when he was shot and when you found him, and as a result, was already in progressive shock at the time he entered the ER. Now we are continuing to give him fluids through intravenous to try and reverse the condition. But because of the trauma his body has already sustained together with the blood loss——"

"You don't know whether you've saved his life or just prolonged it," Nick completed the sentence softly. At Brass and Warrick's sidelong glances, he muttered, "My older sister is a trauma surgeon."

"I'm saying that we've done everything we can," Dr. Ellison said quietly. "And at this point, it's up to God."

There was a moment of stunned silence as the four tried to take in the doctor's words. Finally, Warrick said softly, "Can we see him?"

Dr. Ellison nodded. "We're taking him up to ICU. Ordinarily, it's family only, but under the circumstances, I'll allow it. Give the nurses about fifteen minutes to get him settled in, and then you go ahead. Just no more than two at a time, all right?" Brass and Warrick both nodded. "There's a family room you can wait. Just call the front desk and they'll tell you to come back.

**6:45AM**

Catherine didn't think it was possible for Grissom to look any worse than he had when they'd found him, despite her colleague's reactions. Knowing they'd never get Catherine out of the room once she entered, Brass and Warrick had gone in first. When they'd come back out, Warrick had been to shaken to speak, but Brass had managed to assert, "I'm getting a confession and I will not be dealing. Not for that." One look from where she stood now in the doorway of the ICU cubicle, and Catherine knew why.

Gil Grissom lay motionless in the hospital bed, a light blue blanket covering him up to his chest. His head was turned slightly on the pillow, in the direction of the ventilator tube that extended from his mouth. On the other side Catherine saw the IV tubing taped securely to his arm and the heart monitor that beeped steadily behind him. Grissom's face had yet to show any color, but there was no sign of pain either, and if she didn't look at the ventilator Catherine could make herself believe he was only asleep. The ventilator and the outline of the bandage on his chest that Catherine could see through the blanket.

Catherine didn't realize her legs had started to buckle until Nick took her arm, gently guiding her to a chair. A quick glance at him showed tears in his brown eyes.

After Catherine was seated, she gently took Grissom's hand in hers, careful not to disturb the IV line. Her other hand came up to gently rub his shoulder. "What happened, Gil?" Catherine said softly. "What went wrong tonight?"

**7:30AM**

"Tell me where we stand."

Brass stood behind his desk, looking at Detective Amy Andersen and CSI Robyn Mackie.

Robyn spoke first. "In addition to the blood we found in MacLean's car, I just finished printing the Industrial Arts outside door. There were no prints, other than Alexander MacLean. I was also able to get some epithelials off Grissom's clothing and he's working on a DNA profile as we speak. All I need is a swab of that lowlife's DNA to compare it to."

"I've got Henderson PD canvassing the Entomology conference and surrounding area with both Grissom's picture, and MacLean's," Amy added. "Hopefully we can find out how and when they met up."

"Take Gil's picture to the Storms' place as well – the family that called in the shooting," Brass instructed. "I want to know if they saw him at all."

Amy nodded. "Will do. And, Ms. Miller, MacLean's attorney, called. Asking if we'd be willing to deal at all."

Brass leaned forward, making sure he had both women's full attention. "Let's get something straight. When someone puts a parent in the position of seeing their child in that condition...they do not get a deal."

**9:30AM**

"Excuse me." A young nurse poked her head into Grissom's room, where Catherine was still seated next to Grissom's bedside together with Warrick. The two men had been taking turns for the last three hours.

"Mr. Grissom's mother is here and would like to see her son, so if at least one of you could come out..."

"I'll go," Warrick said and Catherine nodded.

"Gil, your mom's about to come in, so I'm just going to go and meet her, all right?" Grissom's lack of resistance as Catherine slowly slid her hand out of his brought tears to her eyes.

A couple of minutes later, Catherine saw an elderly lady with curly blond hair approaching, uncertainly. Catherine recognized her from when she'd come to visit Grissom several years earlier. Mustering a sympathetic smile, Catherine came forward.

"Mrs. Grissom?" Catherine spoke slightly slower than usual, so that the other woman could read her lips. "My name is Catherine Willows – we met a few years ago. I work with Gil."

"Yes, I remember," Emily Grissom answered. "How is he? How is my son?"

Catherine felt sick. Although she knew Grissom's mother deserved the truth she couldn't stand being the person to give her the doctor's grim pronouncement. "He's still unconscious," Catherine managed.

Mrs. Grissom fixed her with a direct gaze, very much like that of her son. "What have the doctors said? Do they think he'll recover?"

Catherine had always noticed something special about the way Grissom talked to killers he knew were lying – a particularly unwavering glance and uncannily controlled voice. Once she'd even teased him the thought of being the one receiving that treatment during an interrogation gave her the creeps. But that moment in the hospital Catherine realized she would have endured one of those interrogations in a heartbeat rather than have to tell the truth to Grissom's mother.

"They don't know," Catherine admitted. "Because of the trauma and amount of blood he lost they're afraid..." She couldn't complete the sentence. "His room is this way."

Catherine stopped at the doorway of the ICU cubicle and placed a gentle hand on Mrs. Grissom's shoulder. The older woman gasped, but quickly shook her head and strode briskly up to the bed.

"Gil? It's Mom," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. Bending over him she hugged him as best as she could, both hands on his shoulders and pressing her cheek to his, then kissing him lightly on the forehead.

**9:40AM**

Warrick and Nick were talking softly in the family waiting area when they heard it – the sound of footsteps rushing rapidly down the hall. A minute later they saw Catherine go running past the doorway, away from the Intensive Care Unit, one hand clapped over her mouth.

The only thing that got Warrick out of the room before Nick was the fact that he was standing closer to the doorframe. Within seconds both men were rushing down the hall after their co-worker.

"Catherine? Hey, Cath!" The blond woman stopped at the sound of Warrick's voice and reluctantly turned, showing that her body was shaking with sobs.

Warrick immediately enveloped the woman in his arms when he reached her, with Nick on her other side. Then they just stood there for a long moment, just sandwiching their friend in a comforting hug.

"Grissom's mother – the first thing she did when she got there was try and hug him." Catherine was almost crying too hard to be understood. "As best she could with all the equipment, you know? And all I could think about was that he wouldn't respond...that Gil's mom is probably never going to feel her son hug her again!"

**A/N: By the way, this isn't intended as a Catherine/Grissom shipper story. Although I think he'd make a great dad for Lindsey, I've always seen Catherine and Grissom's relationship as like the friendship between Kate and Marcus in Dee Henderson's O'Malley series, and I wrote this accordingly.**

**Do yourself a favor – when writing a story where Grissom's life is hanging in the balance, do not have a picture of the character out on your desk! I had the cover for the CSI Computer Game out as I wrote the last two scenes, and those eyes were completely unnerving me!**

**Your teaser for the next chapter:**

"**That makes this first degree murder, Mr. MacLean."**

**- Jim Brass**


	6. This One's For Grissom

**A/N: My apologies for the lack of updates. I was occupied with the CSI marathon and then out with a nasty case of the flu my kind thoughtful aunt decided to share with me. You'll see the preview line is not yet in this segment, sorry about that. It will be in the next installment.**

**10:00AM**

"Mrs. MacLean? I'm Detective Andersen with the Las Vegas PD, this is Robyn Mackie from the Crime Lab. We need to ask you a couple of questions about your husband."

"I'm not saying a word without an attorney." Jeannete MacLean moved to shut the door.

"Mrs. MacLean, that is certainly your right, but——"

The woman cut the detective off in mid-sentence. "My husband already told you – he went to the shooting range to practice, then tried to shoot a porcupine on his way home. He admitted that was stupid and he regrets frightening that child. But he had nothing to do with what happened to your Mr. Griswold or whatever his name is."

"Grissom," Robyn interjected quietly.

"Whatever. Now if you really want to waste your time further I will call my attorney. His name is Richard Mobley – perhaps you recognize the name?"

Amy smiled pleasantly. "Any relation to our sheriff?"

"His brother. And after our conversation there will be a nice family reunion, which will no doubt be followed by an instructive session from your superiors on the difference between actual suspects and circumstantial evidence. Now if that's really what you want, I'll go make a phone call. Otherwise, I suggest you get off my doorstep and go find the real killer."

Amy looked at Robyn. "Didn't you say you borrowed a book from the sheriff that you needed to return?"

"Yes, actually, I keep meaning to find the chance to talk to him and return it."

"That's what I thought." Amy turned and smiled pleasantly at Jeannette MacLean. "I believe I saw the phone sitting behind you in the hallway."

**10:15AM**

"I just want to make sure that I'm hearing the two of you correctly." Brass paused and looked at Nick and Warrick, both of whom were standing in front of his desk. "You would like to want to work Grissom's shooting?"

"Yes sir," Nick replied.

"You got that right," Warrick confirmed.

"You do remember the rule in the lab handbook, stating that working a case where the victim or suspect happens to be a personal or professional acquaintance constitutes a conflict of interest?" Both CSIs nodded. "And that CSIs are not allowed to work cases that are considered conflicts of interest, including gathering, processing, or even handling any evidence?"

"Brass, come on," Warrick began, but the detective fixed him with a glare.

"I said are you aware of that rule?"

"Yes," Warrick replied with clenched teeth.

"I thought so." Brass reached into his desk and pulled out two envelopes, handing one to each of the two CSIs. "Open these for me and read me the evidence tag numbers."

They did and each pulled out two objects. One was a photograph of Gil Grissom, the other a copy of the St. Cecilia's yearbook. The men looked up at their supervisor in confusion.

"Brass, there is no evidence tag numbers on here," Nick said slowly. The detective nodded.

"My mistake. Just like your mistake was believing you were on duty at this time and were required to report to the lab. You are not on shift, you have the freedom to go and do whatever you please. If there are any conferences or workshops in Las Vegas, or one of the neighboring cities, now would be a good time to go check them out, before you come on duty."

The two CSIs exchanged smiles.

**11:30AM**

"Excuse me, are you attending the Entomology conference?"

The woman turned to look at Nick in surprise. "Yes, I am. Why?"

"A friend of mine was at the conference as well, a Dr. Gil Grissom. This is his picture. And he might have been with a friend, this gentleman here." Nick pointed to MacLean's photo in the yearbook. "Do you remember seeing either of them?"

"I remember seeing Dr. Grissom, but I don't believe I've ever seen this other gentleman. Sorry."

"No problem, ma'am. Thank you very much for your time."

**11:35AM**

"Hello there, sir. I'm trying to find a couple of friends of mine, who I believe may have been attending the conference. Do you recognize either of these gentlemen?"

The elderly professor studied the two photos Warrick handed him. "Mr. Grissom, yes, I sat next to him at the lecture last night, although I don't remember seeing him this morning. That other man – no, I don't believe I saw him."

"So he wasn't attending the conference?" Warrick replied. "Funny. I'm sure he had plans to come. Thanks anyway."

**12:30PM**

"Sir, my name is Detective Andersen, this is Detective Brass. Were you working here at the shooting range yesterday?"

"Yes, I'm the manager. I'm here every day. Why do you ask?"

Amy held up a photo. "Do you remember seeing this gentleman come in to shoot?"

The manager looked at MacLean's photo, then nodded. "Yeah, he was here for a couple of hours. Why?"

The blond-haired officer gave him a big smile. "Just had to verify some information, sir. Procedure you know. Thanks for your time."

Outside the range, Brass looked at Amy. "So at least part of his story checks out."

"Unfortunately. But why in the world would he come to a shooting range on the day he planned to kill someone? Last-minute practice?"

"Well even if we couldn't recover the bullet, we'd still ask to check his gun in case it was recently fired. This would give him an excuse."

"I spoke to some of the other teachers at St. Cecilia's – they verified he has been training in competitive shooting for the last six months. That makes this premeditated. First degree."

Brass nodded. "Still doesn't explain how he ran into Gil, though."

Amy shrugged. "Maybe the entomology conference. Want to head over there now?"

"Sure. Oh, by the way, a couple of my friends had some time off today and they offered to go over and check around at the conference, see if anyone saw MacLean with Grissom." Brass opened the door of the vehicle. "Unofficially, of course."

**1:00PM**

"Unofficially, huh?"

Amy and Brass had just entered the lobby of the hotel, where they had immediately spied Nick and Warrick walking towards them. The female detective turned to look at her companion, amusement in her eyes.

"Unofficially. They had the time off and their photos came from independent sources."

"Right."

Nick and Warrick approached them, uncertainty on their faces. "Hey, Captain, Detective."

"Nick, Warrick. Interesting choice of places to spend your time off," Amy remarked. "Any luck?"

"Almost everyone we talked to saw Grissom, but nobody remembers MacLean – including the instructor." Nick shrugged. "Either he had an accomplice, or MacLean kidnapped him somewhere else."

"Grissom lives here in Henderson. Maybe MacLean stopped him on the way home," Amy suggested. Just then her cell phone rang. "Andersen. Yes, what can I do for you?" The blond-haired detective's heart skipped a beat as she listened to the person on the end of the line. "Yes, I'm working the shooting of Gil Grissom."

There was a long moment of silence as Brass, Nick, and Warrick studied the other officer, trying to get some kind of clue from her expression. "I'll be there right away." She snapped the phone shut.

"That was Detective Wendy Bruce, with the Henderson Police Department. She's working the robbery and shooting death of a store owner that happened about a block over from here. She ran the bullet through the computer and pulled up a match." She took a deep breath. "To the gun used to shoot Grissom."


	7. Justiceor Just Us?

**4:00PM**

"The victim's name is Peter Vaughan, single father of three," Detective Bruce explained. "He owned _It's A Classic_, a store specializing in classical music and rare editions of classic books. Sometime last night the store was broken into and the cash register was emptied. We found Vaughan's body behind the counter." She met the eyes of both police officers. "I understand the bullet we recovered came from the weapon used to kill a Las Vegas CSI?"

"Tried to kill," Nick interjected quickly.

"Mr. Grissom is in critical condition at Desert Palm Hospital," Amy said quietly.

"I'm sorry," Detective Bruce replied. "I understand you have a suspect in custody?"

"The owner of the gun, a Mr. Alexander MacLean," Brass answered. "He's a teacher at St. Cecilia's High School in Las Vegas. He was in Henderson using the shooting range – apparently the guy is an aspiring Olympic shooter – and was on his way home when a family outside of town heard a gunshot near their daughter's treehouse. Father tailed him to the school, called the cops, he said he'd shot a porcupine."

"Except we found the bullet and the blood on it was human – Gil Grissom's, from the crime lab." Amy smiled sarcastically. "Detective Brass and a couple of the CSIs found him in MacLean's Industrial Arts classroom, still alive."

"Apparently MacLean just left him there to die," Nick added, his voice shaking slightly.

"Bastard," Detective Bruce murmured. "So let me get this straight. A teacher decides to rob a book and music store for the money?"

"One obvious question," Amy remarked, a slow smile creeping over her face. "What connection does MacLean have to Peter Vaughan?"

Nick's voice was soft. "And where does Grissom fit in?"

**9:00PM**

"So, Mr. MacLean, we were looking through your personnel file from St. Cecilia's school."

Brass, Amy, and Detective Bruce were sitting in the interrogation room, across the table from MacLean and his lawyer. Or to be more accurate, the women were sitting. Brass was standing a few feet away, careful not to obstruct the view of Robyn, Nick, Catherine, and Warrick who were all congregated behind the observation window.

Brass smiled pleasantly. "And we noticed there were some very interesting notations in there from last year."

"You teach English to the ninth and tenth graders, as well as Industrial Arts; isn't that correct?" Amy asked.

"It is."

"It says here that in October of 1998, you had the class read an excerpt of a Stephen King novel in class and then answer questions about it." Amy looked up. "A selection that wasn't part of the English curriculum, I might add."

Brass raised his eyebrows. "Reading a horror story to ninth-graders at a Catholic school? Interesting choice."

"It was almost Halloween, and kids that age read a lot of fairly scary stuff," MacLean's attorney interjected. "Trust me."

"Well not all teens apparently," Amy answered. "Because one of your students brought up the incident at home and her father made a complaint to the principal."

"Who advised me to be careful what kinds of material I read in class, and that if I were to read anything similar I was to excuse the girl from the room and give her an alternate assignment," MacLean replied. "I remember the incident – it was a case of bad judgment on my part."

"It would appear as though there was another case of bad judgment on your part when the students got their report cards," Amy replied, her eyes glued to the file. "You gave the same student a 68 in English for that reporting period. A student who had maintained an average of 85 or better in her previous eight years of English and Language Arts."

Brass whistled. "Quite a change, wouldn't you say?"

"Her father did," Amy replied, looking up at MacLean. "Didn't he?"

"As I told him in the parent-teacher interview, I deliberately mark the students low on their first reporting period," MacLean said quickly. "It gives them incentive to try harder. I also said I was confident her marks would improve."

"Oh I bet you were," Brass replied.

"Detective," the attorney remonstrated, and Brass held up his hands in an apologetic gesture. Behind the window Nick and Warrick exchanged quick grins.

"But the real interesting thing here was something that happened in March of this year." Amy's voice was reflective. "You apparently became upset with a student's behavior in your Industrial Arts class – said she was handling the equipment inappropriately. You asked her to leave her workstation and stand in the corner of the room, facing the wall so that – and I quote - 'You didn't have to look at her.'"

"That is quite a remark to make to a student, Mr. MacLean." Detective Bruce spoke for the first time. "Particularly when the student is the same student as mentioned in the previous two incidents. A Therese Vaughan."

"Once again her father spoke to the principal," Amy added. "And asked that his daughter be pulled from all of your classes. We understand he relocated to Henderson with his family that summer."

"It is true that Therese was pulled from my classes," MacLean acknowledged. "I was not aware the family had relocated; only that Therese was no longer attending our school."

"Were you aware that the principal planned to not renew your contract after this year?" Detective Bruce inquired. "And that his decision was due in part to these incidents?"

MacLean took a deep breath. "Yes, Mr. Cadell did tell me that," he answered carefully. "I fail to see what this has to do with anything."

"Well, Mr. MacLean, it has to do with the fact that Therese Vaughan's father Peter was found shot to death in his store last night," Detective Bruce replied. "An apparent robbery. Except, his store sells classical music and rare books. Not exactly a good target for someone trying to make a buck."

"But a very good target when the owner is partially responsible for you losing your job and when the store is in the same vicinity you just happened to be practicing your Olympic shooting in," Amy added.

"That was a very nice touch," Brass said with a smile. "Going to the shooting range prior to the robbery. That way if we were to test your gun, there was a legitimate reason for why it had been fired. Nice planning ahead. That makes this first degree murder. Of course, it would have helped if you'd recovered the bullet, so we couldn't have matched it to your gun for sure."

"Oh, I'm guessing you intended on doing that," Amy said with a knowing smile. "But you got interrupted in the act. By Gil Grissom, isn't that right?" She smiled sweetly. "He's a known classical music fan, and we recovered his prints off of the door handle of Peter Vaughan's store."

"A warrant for your home and classroom showed a backpack stuffed with money in the closet of your Industrial Arts classroom," Brass added. "Peter Vaughan's prints were on the bills."

MacLean started to laugh. "I don't believe this," he said. "First you try and say I killed some stupid CSI. Now you're saying I committed murder and robbery in Henderson?"

"Alexander." This time the lawyer's hissed reprimand was directed at her client. However she wasn't in time to stop Brass from crossing the room and leaning over the table, putting his face only a few inches from the man sitting at the table.

"Just a few things for you to get straight, my friend," Brass said, his voice just loud enough for the voice recorder to pick up. "First of all, that 'stupid' CSI is a certified entomologist – which means he's qualified in a forensic procedure that none of the police officers or other criminalist in the entire Las Vegas PD can do. He has a Bachelor of Science in Biology – magnum cum laude; a Ph. D in Biology, with a minor in English Literature. Secondly," Brass' face crinkled into a satisfied smile. "You never actually killed him, you smug, ignorant bastard."

MacLean's face went a shade paler as Brass nodded. "That's right. He's still alive. Unconscious and in hospital, but he's still alive. So after looking at all the evidence I just told you about, a jury will get to sit and listen to how you kidnapped a man, then shot him and left him to die in your classroom – from the victim himself."

**9:30PM**

"That was impressive, Brass," Nick said quietly, as the detectives joined the three CSIs in the observation room. His voice shook slightly as he added, "Except, Grissom won't be able to give that first-hand account you talked about."

"MacLean doesn't know that." Brass' voice was tight. "I guess it's time we go and tell his mother."

**A/N: Your final teaser, for the next and final part of this story, is,**

**Brass: "I'm so sorry."**


	8. It's Over

**10:30PM**

"So you've arrested the man who shot my son?"

Brass nodded, careful to keep his lips in view of Emily Grissom. "He still is refusing to admit to any of it, but we have enough evidence to charge him with robbery, first degree murder, and kidnapping and attempted murder in the commission of a felony. That means he will probably be sentenced to death upon conviction."

Emily Grissom nodded. "Thank you," she said quietly. She shook hands with Warrick, Nick, and Robyn, as well as Brass and Amy. "Thank you all for everything you did."

"I'm sorry there wasn't more we could do, ma'am," Brass said sincerely. "Gil was an excellent investigator and a valued member of my team, but more importantly I consider him a friend."

Emily smiled. "He spoke of you in the same way, Detective Brass," she said, a slight smile on her face. "As he did the rest of you."

"Jim, please," Brass replied gently. Then, somewhat self-consciously, he stepped forward and embraced the older woman in an awkward, but heartfelt hug. "I'm sorry," he managed to get out, after he'd pulled back. "I'm so sorry."

**11:00PM**

The lights on the unit had been dimmed when Catherine and Emily returned to Grissom's hospital room. Catherine had been reluctant to join Grissom's mother, feeling like she was intruding, but the older woman insisted.

"You're his friend, dear," she'd said gently. "Gil would want you in there." She'd extended similar invitations to Nick, Warrick, and Brass, and after some initial hesitation they'd taken up vigil in the family room as well, taking turns with Catherine to enter the ICU cubicle. Under the circumstances, day shift was pulling a double to cover the lab, something that had been met with barely any protest.

Grissom still lay unconscious and unmoving under the blue hospital blanket. It had looked like his face was regaining some color earlier in the day, but the pink shading had merely been from the sunset outside the window, which had long since faded. Overall there had been no change to his condition, and the medical staff wasn't saying much, other than a muttered comment to Catherine by a nurse that it was probably only a matter of time. Catherine had not repeated the words to Grissom's mother – who'd been in the washroom – and had had a few muttered comments of her own for the nurse.

Catherine was the first to step up to Grissom's bedside and gently take his hand, the one without the IV. "They caught him, Gil," she said softly. "Brass, Amy, and Robyn. Nick and Warrick were there too, off the record. They found the man that did this to you. Brass thinks he'll get the death penalty."

The blonde CSI lightly rubbed her friend's arm, trying hard not to think about how white his face was. "I remember when a guy on one of your cases was scheduled to be executed. You had the night off and said you spent it at the rollercoaster. I had a feeling then that you didn't agree with sentencing people to death, even though you never actually said anything. Up 'til tonight I wasn't sure I did either." She sighed.

"That robbery you walked in on? It was actually a murder. The robbery was just a cover story." She smiled slightly, picturing Grissom's response. "Yeah, we know everything that happened. Including that you walked in as the guy was trying to remove the bullet. We got your fingerprints from the door. You did good in there. You got us a ton of evidence we'll be able to use when they take this low-life to trial. Now there's just one more thing you need to do"

Catherine took a deep breath before she continued, "Brass told MacLean you weren't dead, that you survived. He said that you'd be giving a first-hand eye-witness account of everything that happened at the trial. Now I'm sure you've heard everything the doctors are predicting about your condition. They sure haven't been the most uplifting people I've ever met."

Tears trickled down Catherine's cheeks and her voice was shaking as she said, "I'm here to tell you, I'm not accepting anything less than you walking into that courtroom and making Brass' threat a promise. You got that?"

Her shoulders shook with sobs and she closed her eyes, unable to say anything more. Suddenly she felt a hand squeeze her shoulder. It was Emily, and she'd pulled a chair up next to the bed for Catherine. The CSI, who'd been standing up until that point, gratefully sank into it.

Emily nodded in approval before moving around to the other side of the bed and sit down on it. In a repeat of the embrace she'd given Grissom when she'd first arrived, as well as several other times during the course of the day, she put both hands on his shoulders and again kissed his forehead, before pressing her cheek to her son's and holding it there.

Emily didn't hear the slight change in rhythm on the monitor, or the soft moan that accompanied it, but she felt it, felt the vibration and the cheek pressed against hers move slightly. Quickly she lifted her head up, enough for her to fully observe her son's face.

Gil Grissom shifted his head slightly on the pillow, enough that his face was no longer turning towards the ventilator. A moment later, his eyelids fluttered, then opened, shut again, then opened a second time, slowly focusing on his mother sitting on the side of his bed. His forehead wrinkled in confusion and he attempted to speak, only to be stopped by the ventilator. Instead he moved the hand closest to his mother, his fingers forming letters sign language alphabet.

"Everything okay?" Emily Grissom translated aloud. On the other side of the bed Catherine clapped one hand to her mouth, muffling a sob of relief. Grissom looked briefly back at her before turning his face back to his mother.

"Everything's fine, Gil." Emily's voice was gentle as she both spoke and signed the words. Her son's face relaxed and one corner of his lips attempted to smile, a slow, tired smile that was almost childlike. Reaching forward, she smoothed Gil's hair back with her hand and his blue eyes closed again, for the moment content. "Everything's just fine."

THE END


End file.
